


Omnes Meus, Aeternum

by LilLayneeLoo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Injury Recovery, M/M, Married Dorks, OTP Feels, Protective Bruce, hurt clark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23776585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilLayneeLoo/pseuds/LilLayneeLoo
Summary: Clark didn't listen to Bruce.Why didn't Clark listen to Bruce?Clark should have listened to Bruce.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 232





	Omnes Meus, Aeternum

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so now I'm addicted to writing this pairing. Whoops.

Bruce had told him that it was too dangerous to go alone, but he didn’t listen.

Instead, he had blown up at him, told him that he was too protective. Told him that it didn’t matter if Bruce was out of town, he was a grown man and could handle himself. He even had the audacity to remind his husband that he was  _ invulnerable _ .

That fight with Bruce had been the only thing he could think about as he fell to the ground, the glowing green bullet embedding itself in his left shoulder. 

He wished more than anything that he could apologize to Bruce.

The pain was excruciating. His body was heavy against the cool concrete, his cheek pressed flush to the roof of the Emperor Building. His shoulders were trembling slightly, and he could hear footsteps approaching him. 

He didn’t think they were heavy enough to be Parasite’s, and he was certain that Parasite didn’t have access to Kryptonite. There were very few people who did, but Clark had a sneaking suspicion that he knew which one had shot him.

“Well look who it is,” said a voice above him.  _ Luthor _ .

Clark wanted to speak, but he couldn’t. He could feel the bullet, aware of how narrowly it missed several major arteries and how it was barely an inch away from his heart--close enough that it would be a matter of minutes before the radiation penetrated his most vital organ, slowing it until it stopped.

“Kal-El of Krypton,” Luthor smirked. “At my mercy. Oh how I’ve longed for this moment. Not so powerful now are you?”

Clark clenched his jaw in an effort to stay silent as Luthor dug his heel into the wound on his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Luthor sneered. “Does that hurt?” He twisted his foot, the pressure and friction causing more blood to seep out onto the concrete below Clark’s shoulder. He was in agony, but he knew that all Luthor wanted was a reaction from him. He clamped his jaw shut again.

“Where are your friends?” Luthor asked. “Didn’t you tell them where you were going? Oh, Kal, it’s never a good idea to go off fighting us bad guys without letting your friends know.”

Clark wanted desperately to turn around and punch him in the face, but he could barely control the trembling of his shoulders, much less build enough force to deliver an effective blow. 

He almost hadn’t worn his comm at all, just to spite his husband, but he had met Bruce’s eyes on the way out and tapped it to show him it was on him. He had still been angry at him though, so he hadn’t turned it on. Now he wished he had.

He pictured Bruce’s face--his scruff of facial hair, the crease of his forehead, that rare smile that he knew was reserved for only him… Clark managed to draw enough strength from the thought of kissing him again to fight against the bullet, shifting his body enough to press the red button on his comm. 

He felt the vibration against his hip that signaled it had activated. With another flick of his finger, Clark had pushed in the black button that began a transmission, willing himself to hold it down long enough that someone in the league would hear him.

It was still pressed when Luthor said: “And especially your husband! Batman would be so disappointed in you, Superman. I wish he could see you like this, grounded by a bullet. Helpless.”

Clark had wanted desperately to refrain from reacting to Luthor, but he could no longer lay still when his enemy reached for his wedding ring. His hand jolted off the black button and to the ground beside his shoulder. He was willing himself to rise from the ground, but a searing pain shot down his back every time he moved. 

He curled his fingers under on his left hand, blocking Luthor from removing the ring.

“Oh, Clarkie Kent,” Luthor cooed. “Protective of the ring, are we?”

Clark’s body was on fire, the pain from the Kryptonite roaring through his veins, but it wasn’t enough to dull the rage that was building in his chest.

“You...can’t...touch...us,” Clark sputtered. Even through the stutter, he could hear the hatred in his voice. He hoped that when the league arrived, provided that they had actually heard his comm, one of his teammates would just kill Luthor.

“Is that what you think?” Luthor jeered. “There will be no ‘us’ for me to touch when you’re dead, Superman. When that Kryptonite has seeped into your bloodstream and circulated throughout your system, you won’t have a heart to love with anymore.”

Luthor pulled a small blade from his pocket, and Clark wasn’t surprised to see that it was glowing green.

Luthor stepped back, laughing maniacally as he raised the Kryptonite knife into the air. 

“I could! I could just cut it out of you now!” He stepped forward suddenly and forcefully, kneeling down so that his face was inches from Clark. He pressed the blade into Clark’s wrist, cutting deeply into his flesh. Blood pooled to the surface, and Luthor inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Oh how sweet that would smell...Superman’s heart in my hands!” He spat in Clark’s face, then stood again, walking to the edge of the roof.

“Look at your God, Metropolis!” He yelled. It was late, the traffic was low and Clark was sure that nobody could hear him, but Luthor didn’t seem to care. “He’s as good as  _ dead! _ ” 

He shrieked the last word, erupting into another bout of maniacal laughter. Clark could hear that his heartbeat was slowing, the fresh cut in his arm draining him of the little life he had left. Against his better judgement, tears began to well in his eyes.

“Bruce…” he said, quietly. His voice cracked as he stared at the ring on his finger. 

_ Clark had insisted on inexpensive rings. Bruce decided that if he couldn’t spend an obscene amount of money on his husband to be, they were at least going to get them inscribed. _

_ Clark had liked that idea. _

_ They went together one day to choose them, and it was Bruce who pointed out the perfect rings. _

_ Titanium bands, one inset with a single row of black diamonds down the centre, the other inset with two rows. Not identical, but a matching set. Bruce had suggested that the rings represented them rather perfectly--they were different from one another, but somehow fit together.  _

_ It took a lot of effort on Clark’s part to hold back his tears, especially when Bruce requested Clark's ring to be custom fit with sapphires instead of black diamond. Blue, like the house of El. _

_ Each of them had written what they wanted inscribed on the other’s ring onto a small piece of paper. They handed them to the clerk at the jeweler without confiding in each other, and neither saw their own band until it was lovingly slipped onto their finger, wrapped in a gentle “I do.” _

_ They had laughed, Clark through his tears, when they realized that they had each taken the same route, choosing a short but meaningful Latin inscription: _

Omnes Meus _ , Bruce had chosen.  _ My all.

Aeternum,  _ Clark had chosen.  _ Forever.

_ Omnes Meus, Aeternum. _

Clark closed his eyes, allowing a few tears to run down his face. Forever hadn’t been long enough yet. They’d been married for 6 years, but that wasn’t even close to a lifetime.

As the effects of the Kryptonite continued to spread, Clark repeated the Latin words under his breath like a mantra. His heartbeat was so slow, so weak, and he knew he didn’t have much time.

_ Omnes Meus, Aeternum. My all, forever. _

More tears rolled down Clark’s cheek. 

_ Even in death, Bruce,  _ he thought.  _ I will always love you. Forever. I’m sorry, Bruce. I love you and I’m sorry. _

Luthor’s laugh was silenced by a flash of red that knocked him off of his feet and onto his back. Before Clark could even register what was happening, he saw a pale green hand press into the concrete beside his head. J’onn’s deep voice was barely audible to Clark, but he knew it was there.

“Superman,” he said. “I’m afraid I need to act now, or you’ll die.”

J’onn seemed very calm, for which Clark was incredibly grateful. He met J’onn’s gaze and rocked his head forward. He knew that J’onn intended on putting him to sleep, and despite his fear that he would not wake up again, he welcomed the peace that came with unconsciousness. The martian’s eyes began to glow, and Clark was under.

\--------

He was conscious, but he was not awake. He could hear the beeping around him, and he could feel the heat of the sun lamps on his skin. He knew he was in the med bay on the Watchtower, but he couldn’t remember how he got there. 

He felt weak, but not as weak as he had on the roof. There was a searing pain in his lower left arm, and an intense and inexplicable pressure in the back of his shoulder, but his heartbeat was stronger, and he was  _ alive _ .

If Clark could have moved, he would have cried. He would have ran to Bruce, wherever he was and fell to his knees in front of him, begging for his forgiveness and telling him that he loved him infinitely.

But he couldn’t move. He could only focus his senses, which were beginning to return to their full potential.

For example, he could not hear what was happening on the other end of the Watchtower, but he could hear that his husband was just outside of the med bay, fighting with J’onn and Diana.

“I should have been called  _ immediately _ !” He heard Bruce yelling. He focused in, and heard that Bruce’s heartbeat was far too rapid. “I don’t care what I was doing or where I was! There is absolutely no reason that I should only be returning when Clark is  _ already out _ of surgery. I should have been on the damn roof!”

“Your judgement is distorted by your feelings,” Diana said. “You’re not thinking clearly because..”

“Because my husband is lying on the other side of that door, potentially moments away from death!” Bruce roared. 

Clark wanted to go to him, to tell him he was going to be okay, but he couldn’t.

He was becoming more conscious of his own position. He was laying on his back, his injured shoulder exposed to the lamps. He could feel the top of his left hand pressed against the cot, and determined that the cut on his wrist was also facing the lamps. 

Originally he had thought the heat was hitting him directly, but the more feeling he regained, the more obvious it became that he was wearing a suit of some sort. 

_ Surely they would have removed my suit _ , Clark thought. He remembered the feel of the bullet in his shoulder. It was deep enough that J’onn would have had to cut it out of him, and he was sure the cut on his arm had needed stitches.

He also became aware of an IV, somehow inserted in his right arm. He’d have to ask about that one.

He was pulled away from his observations by another cry from Bruce.

“Let me in!” He was yelling. 

“He’s not awake, Bruce,” Diana said, calmly. He knew she was trying to soothe Bruce, but Clark knew him enough to know that it was having the opposite effect.

“I don’t care!” Bruce roared.

“Bruce,” J’onn tried. “He’s compromised right now. Weak, tired, bruised and bloodied.”

“J’onn,” Bruce responded. “Clark and I have been married for over 6 years! I have seen him at his best, and I have seen him at his very worst! There is nothing that could be waiting for me on the other side of that door that would bother me; no position in which Clark could be that would  _ ever _ prevent me from loving him with every ounce of my being! Let me in!”

There were so many things Clark wanted to do. So much he wanted to say to Bruce. He wanted to tell J’onn and Diana to step aside, ask them what they thought gave them the right to keep Bruce from him.

He imagined what he would feel like if he was in Bruce’s position, and was actually relatively surprised that Bruce was not more agitated. He noticed Bruce’s voice drop significantly in volume, then heard him say:

“I don’t give a damn if he’s a mess of bones on a table. I’m not waiting anymore. Step aside and let me through, or I’ll move you myself. I need to see my husband, and I need to see him now.”

Clark didn’t hear either J’onn or Diana protest, and no scuffling or banging. He assumed that meant they had yielded to Bruce as the doors to the med bay slid open.

He could hear Bruce’s breath hitch in his throat as he made his way toward the cot. He sensed Bruce’s presence on his left side, and felt a gentle hand touch just above the bandaging on his arm.

Clark gave it all he had, but he could not move or speak to let Bruce know that he was going to be okay. 

He had to lay in silence while Bruce’s breathing became ragged and panicked. 

He had to remain motionless as Bruce’s forehead rested against his left hip.

He could not say a word of comfort when Bruce’s began to sob, tears soaking Clark’s suit.

“Clark Kent-Wayne,” Bruce said softly, through tears. “You’re such an idiot sometimes.”

He choked, and clutched at the material enveloping Clark’s body. The shift in fabric caused a familiar friction, and Clark was suddenly hyper aware of what he was wearing.

His black suit. The recovery suit. 

The gravity of what had happened to him had not hit him until this moment. His situation was far from okay. If J’onn had put him in the black suit after the surgery, that meant that he needed every ounce of solar radiation he could get. That meant that he needed nothing short of a miracle to fully recover.

He longed to run his hands through Bruce’s hair. He knew that comforted him more than anything else. It was one of many intimate gestures that Clark could not imagine never experiencing again.

Bruce shifted his head slightly, then began to speak again.

“I’m so sorry, Clark,” he cried. “I’m so sorry I left, I’m so sorry we fought, I accused you of things...I know you’re strong...I know you can handle...Clark…”

He sobbed again. Clark’s chest was aching, not from the bullet, but rather from the amount of raw emotion that Bruce was displaying. It was rare for him to smile, much less cry. 

“Please, Clark...sweetheart....please don’t leave...don’t leave me…”

Clark’s right arm began to tingle slightly. It was an unfamiliar feeling. He felt his heart rate pick up slightly.

“I need you...Clark…” Bruce said, his voice stabling a little. “How am I supposed to live without you? You are everything to me.”

_ Omnes Meus,  _ Clark thought.  _ Aeternum. I need to wake up. _

The tingling spread through his fingertips and up his bicep, over his shoulder blade and around his chest. He felt it wash over him like a wave of feeling, and in an act of desperation, Clark tried to move his fingers.

He felt Bruce’s head jerk up, the weight lifting off of his stomach.

“Clark?” Bruce asked. “Clark, sweetheart, did you move your fingers?”

_ It had worked. _

He tried to move them again, and the movement came easier. The tingles had spread through his whole body, the pain in his arm and chest becoming more obvious. He didn’t care about the pain. He focused on his limbs, trying to move any part of them he could.

“Clark?” Bruce was saying, hopefully. “That’s it, Clark. Come on, wake up for me.”

Clark felt Bruce entangle their fingers together, and gave Bruce’s hand a very weak squeeze. It wasn’t much, but Bruce was calling for J’onn and Diana so it must have been enough.

The med bay doors opened again, and two sets of footsteps approached his side.

“He’s definitely waking up,” Bruce said. “He’s moved his fingers twice, his right elbow bent a little and he squeezed my hand.”

J’onn and Diana must have nodded. Clark didn’t hear them say anything. Bruce spoke again.

“Is there anything we should do?” he asked. 

“He has to wake up on his own,” J’onn said. “I am unwilling to administer any further treatment until we know the full extent of Clark’s afflictions.”

“Okay,” Bruce replied. “Then if it’s alright, I think it’s best if he wakes up with just me here. He might be too overwhelmed for company, but I also just can’t bear the thought of him waking up alone.”

Clark heard their footsteps recede, and the med bay doors open and close again. Bruce returned to his position on Clark’s abdomen, entangling their fingers once more.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Bruce said quietly. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. You can wake up.” 

The tears had stopped flowing, and Bruce was rubbing soothing circles into Clark’s fingers.

“I promise I’m not angry with you. No fighting. I just want to hear your voice and see those eyes. Your eyes are so beautiful, did I ever tell you? There isn’t a name for that blue, I swear, but it’s my favorite color in the whole damn universe.”

To his credit, Clark was trying so hard to wake up. The tingling was fading, replaced by a weight that Clark could only describe as  _ comfortably normal _ . His limbs felt like his limbs again, and his eyes felt less heavy. He could feel that he was so close to waking up. So close to seeing and touching his Bruce again.

“Clark, I love you so much,” Bruce continued. “I’m sorry. I don’t say it enough. I’m so critical of you and I don’t put enough of my trust in you. You deserve this whole world-- you’ve done so much for it, changed it immeasurably, and it repays you by sending psychopaths like Luthor after you…”

Bruce’s breathing hitched, and Clark mustered up the strength to squeeze his hand again. 

“Barry and Hal got him,” Bruce choked out. “J’onn performed surgery on you on that roof. Hal used the ring to create a makeshift Kryptonite scalpel and he cut the bullet out of your shoulder. He used your cape to make a tourniquet, and wrapped it around the wound in your arm. You lost so much blood…”

Bruce turned his head and Clark could feel the heat of his breath through the material of his suit.

“That’s why he’s got you in this suit… even after the bullet was gone you needed sunlight to heal your injuries. You lost so much blood that he wasn’t sure that you were going to…” he stopped for a minute, and Clark heard him swallow deeply. “Well, you can figure that one out.”

Clark squeezed Bruce’s hand again, and felt the tingling shift behind his eyes. He could tell that in a minute he would be able to open them.

“Hal made you an IV. The Kryptonite he makes isn’t actually Kryptonite, so he was able to manipulate the molecular composition to reduce its damage to your strength, while maintaining its ability to pierce your skin. The IV is cycling solar thermal fuel through your bloodstream so that you can absorb the energy from it without retaining the remainder of the chemical.

I was so angry with them for not calling me, but I have to say, they took good care of you.”

Clark’s lashes were fluttering, and he was able to pull his eyes open just barely enough that he could see Bruce. His chin was resting on Clark’s hip, his eyes looking over at the monitor beside Clark. He didn’t seem to notice that Clark had moved at all.

The tingling spread to Clark’s mouth. It acted like an uncomfortable wave, splashing over his tongue and up into his lips, spreading through his cheeks and flooding his mouth with saliva. Bruce heard when he swallowed thickly.

His voice was rough and raspy as he spoke:

“Yeah, they sometimes know what they’re doing.”

Clark half expected Bruce to start crying again, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled himself up from Clark’s hip and brought his mouth immediately to Clark’s, a firm yet gentle caress of his lips that washed away the tingling in his face. Clark smiled into the kiss, and Bruce pressed their foreheads together.

“Don’t you ever…” Bruce said, resting one hand on Clark’s good shoulder, and pressing the other into the nape of Clark’s neck. “Don’t you ever die on me, Clark Kent-Wayne. I love you so much it hurts, and I need you to stay with me. You mean everything to me, and I want to love you for the rest of my life.”

Clark kissed Bruce again, ignoring the pain in his chest and arm.

“Omnes Meus, Aeternum” he whispered, a smile creeping onto his face. 

“The feeling is mutual, Bruce.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback welcome. Thanks for dropping by.


End file.
